Secret of Pax Tharkas

THIRTEEN

Gus experienced a myriad of wonders on that, the most splendid day of his life. With the beautiful dwarf maid beside him and the dog Kondike bounding ahead, he strode through a deep valley of the Kharolis. Lofty peaks, mostly covered with snow but occasionally revealing crags of sheer, towering rock, pushed up on either side. On the lower ground in the valley floor, they were able to walk between the snowfields on ground that varied from hard and rocky to marshy mud that squished entertainingly around his boots-and his toes where they poked through the worn material of his ancient footwear.

He stared in amazement as they skirted a deep lake, the water as blue as the turquoise gems that ornamented so many Daergar nobles. Fish darted through those waters, moving with a speed and grace that was very different from the blind cavefish that meandered through the Urkhan Sea. In places the blue sky turned white, marked by what Gretchan called “clouds,” and Gus gaped at the myriad of shapes assumed by those cottony blobs.

“Clouds good to eat?” the gully dwarf wondered as his belly rumbled.

“Well, I don’t think anyone’s tried,” Gretchan replied.

“I try!” he boasted. “I eat two clouds!”

“Good luck,” she said with a laugh. “Are you going to climb back to the top of the mountain? Or can you fly?”

Gus pondered the problem. He looked back to see some of the clouds were, indeed, brushing the summit of Cloudseeker. At the same time, he could see the mountaintop was a very long way away, and the clouds were also a very great distance over their heads.

“Try clouds later,” he conceded, privately resolving not to get more than two steps away from his new, best, very smart, and beautiful friend.

His belly rumbled again and he belched, and she showed her appreciation for his company with an interesting grimace on her lovely face before she quickly turned away. It seemed to Gus as though she walked a little faster when she started back down the valley.

As they descended farther, he discovered “bushes” and “trees.” The latter were not like anything he had seen in Thorbardin; they were fragrant and impressive, rising far over their heads, waving branches laden with feathered green needles. He saw birds that rose in squawking flocks from the smooth surface of a sheltered pond and beavers that swam through the waters, slapping their tails in a loud smack when Kondike bounded near to them. The dog didn’t seem to mind the creatures’ eluding him; he delighted in springing through the shallows, throwing curtains of spray that shimmered like diamonds. When his long black coat was thoroughly soaked, he trotted back to his dwarf companions, braced himself, and shook mightily. Gretchan laughed, stepping behind a tree just in time, but Gus was showered with cool water and laughed himself at the dog’s obvious delight.

“Get fish here?” the Aghar asked hopefully as his belly helpfully reminded him to think of food. He licked his lips at the prospect.

“No,” she said. “I’d like to make a few more miles before we make camp.”

“Those vejables there?” he asked about two minutes later as they passed a field dotted with waving blossoms.

“No,” Gretchan replied before pausing to think. “Well, maybe they are. You can go look if you want, but I’m going to keep walking. You can catch up.”

“No,” he said firmly, pulling his finger out of his nose to inspect the impressive results of his digital probe. “Me stick with you!” he declared loyally.

She muttered under her breath what Gus took to be appreciation for his excellent nose-picking; he didn’t catch her exact words because he was loudly belching again. That time, when she started to walk, he was certain she had picked up the pace. He had to huff and puff as he trotted along, and unfortunately for Gretchan, he was breathing too heavily to continue entertaining her with his endless thoughts and ideas.

At least the shadows beneath the trees were easier on his eyes, which had been strained by the morning spent between snowfields under the open sky. He stared into the shade and relished the sight of spring flowers. When the sun dipped behind the western mountain ridge, the cool evening air and the muted illumination were wonderful to behold. They came upon a deer in a clearing, and the Aghar gaped, awestruck, until Kondike took off like a shot, moving with amazing speed through the long grass as the antlered herbivore sprinted, even faster, into the woods. It was a long time later that the dog, his tongue hanging low and his flanks heaving, padded back to the two dwarves.

“Did he kill it?” Gus asked, eyeing those long white teeth.

“Only in his dreams,” Gretchan assured him, patting the dog affectionately. “He’s fast, but a deer is faster.”

Soon the dwarf maid announced it was time to bed down for the night. Gus suddenly felt his weariness and greeted the news with relief. He plopped down between two outstretched pine roots, pulled his ratty cloak over his head, and prepared to slumber.

“Not so fast, bub,” Gretchan chided him, prodding him with her toe. “You go get some firewood, and I’ll make us a fire.”

“Who Bub?” he demanded, looking around belligerently. “I get you firing wood!”

The process took longer than necessary because Gus wasn’t clear on exactly what constituted firewood. His first few expeditions into the wood were ruled out; no rocks, moss, or any of the soggy driftwood that he pulled from the stream with no small effort. Eventually, the patient Gretchan showed him the dry branches to be found low on the big pine trunks, and when he found a deadfall, limbs intact but dry and brittle, she praised his diligence enough that his chest puffed out in sheer pleasure. Soon she had a hot fire going, and Gus eagerly filled her small kettle with water from a nearby stream.

“Gonna make some more vejables?” he asked and was delighted with her affirmative answer.

Kondike, meanwhile, stalked back and forth along the bank of that stream. Gus was amazed to see him plunge his face into the water once or twice before emerging with a wriggling trout in his jaws. Several times the dog repeated that remarkable procedure, feasting on two catches as Gretchan and Gus enjoyed a warm, filling vegetable stew.

After their feast, Gus was truly drowsy. With a belly more comfortably full than it had ever been in his life and the companionship of the most wonderful person he had ever met, he sighed in contentment and leaned back against a tree trunk, gazing through drooping lids at the warm embers of the flameless fire. Gretchan pulled a cloak around herself and, using her pack as a pillow, settled herself on the far side of the glowing coals. She put more of the crushed leaf into the bowl of her pipe and puffed quietly.

Gus enjoyed the aroma but remembered her caution, so he remained on his own side of the fire, drifting off to sleep.

Abruptly, a deep, menacing growl echoed through the camp, and Gus’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. Kondike stood beside the dwarf maid as she sat up. The dog’s fur bristled and he growled again, the sound like the deep rumble of a rockslide.

“What is it?” Gretchan asked, her hand wrapping around the haft of her walking stick.

Two spots of red glowed at them out of the darkness, and immediately Gus knew why the dog had warned them.

“It-it-it-” He tried but he couldn’t quite articulate what he intended to say.

The embers of the fire suddenly whooshed into a blaze, crackling high, casting bright light through the wooded campsite and illuminating the horrifying image of the creature that had attacked Gus. Its great wings, batlike and widespread, seemed to reach out toward them like encompassing limbs. Eyes blazing with infernal heat, the monster opened its mouth and uttered a screech that sent a paralyzing tingle of fear down Gus’s spine. Those crimson orbs remained fixed upon the gully dwarf as the monster took a long, sinuous step forward.

The little Aghar sat up, rigid with terror, his back pressed against the rough bole of a pine. Knees knocking, hands trembling, he wanted to flee into the darkness, but he couldn’t make himself climb to his feet. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but somehow he couldn’t even muster the control to shriek his fright out loud.

Kondike lunged forward, jaws wide, fangs bared, barking furiously-a snarling sound totally unlike the friendly “woof” Gus had become accustomed to. The creature raised a taloned paw. Unafraid, the dog stood its ground, barring the path into the campsite as the apparition took another step closer.

“Kondike-come!” ordered Gretchan. Still growling, the dog took a spring backward just as the minion swiped a hand that could have torn the animal’s head away. Kondike bristled and snarled, stiff legged, but slowly retreated toward his mistress.

Awestruck, the Aghar saw that the dwarf maid had risen to her feet and was holding her staff before her in both hands, the butt of the thick shaft planted on the ground. Bravely she faced the approaching horror. Kondike stood before her, forelegs widespread, the thick fur on his back bristling, making the big dog look even larger than he was.

“Halt, beast!” cried Gretchan, and the metal image of an anvil atop her staff abruptly glowed with a pure, golden light-like a tiny burst of sunlight penetrating the gloom of the forest night.

Gus gaped, forgetting the monster, the wizard, Thorbardin, everything. He really, really knew he was in the presence of a goddess. How else could she turn night into day?

With a shriek suggesting raw, physical pain, the monster recoiled. One of its wings closed over its face, as if to block its face from that harsh illumination. Arms flailing, talons slashing, the thing backed away. It seemed diminished, no longer towering like the great trees. Roaring and howling, it stepped back, under the fringe of the trees surrounding the campsite. There it crouched and, abruptly, lunged toward the gully dwarf.

Or, at least, it faked a lunge. Gus yelped and fled around the fire pit to cower behind Gretchan, and the monster hesitated, again shielding itself with its wings, as the dwarf maid challenged it. “Go!” she commanded, her voice ringing like a trumpet. “Leave us!”

To Gus’s astonishment, Gretchan took a step toward the monster, the anvil glowing brighter than ever. She raised the staff from the ground and brandished it like a spear, thrusting the glowing head toward the creature, forcing the monster away from the fire. It uttered another unworldly wail, and its red eyes blazed more brightly then ever as it stared at Gus with palpable hatred. The gully dwarf’s knees collapsed, and he dropped to the ground, pressing his face into the dirt, throwing his arms over the top of his head.

Kondike barked even more frenziedly, his loud woofs echoing through the woods. The big dog bluffed a charge, but firmly held his position close beside his mistress. The monster stepped to the side, and the dog moved to block it, bristling and snapping, nimbly ducking back again when a taloned claw lashed out.

“Go!” Gretchan cried again, striding steadily forward, forcing the monster to scrabble back. She broke into a run, and those great wings spread as the thing leaped into the air, clawing for altitude as she swung the staff viciously at it. When the anvil struck the beast’s foot, it shrieked even louder and quickly vanished into the dark, night sky.

Gretchan, her face slick with sweat, gasped for breath as she retreated back to the dying fire. Kondike kept pacing, stiff legged, around the perimeter of the little camp as Gus slowly stemmed his trembling and, with considerable effort, lifted his head from the ground, sat up, and pushed himself to his feet.

He found himself looking up at the dwarf maid’s staring face. It was still a beautiful, round-cheeked, and sweet face, but there was a new appraising expression in her eyes and furrows across her forehead. She cast another look upward to make sure the monster had gone then stepped up to the gully dwarf to kneel before him.

The pure blue of her eyes had turned to ice, and there was a sternness in her voice Gus had never heard before as she addressed him.

“Well, little fellow,” she said softly. “You’re more interesting than first appearances might suggest. What is it that you haven’t told me?”

True to form, Brandon’s skull throbbed painfully when he woke up. It was the worst headache he had ever experienced, and for a few minutes, all he could do was grit his teeth and fight the pain. He was vaguely aware that full daylight had brightened the camp, while a cold breeze chilled his sweaty garments and made him shiver. His tongue was swollen in his mouth, and when the throbbing in his head rose to an almost unendurable level, he rolled onto his side and retched the contents of his stomach onto the ground.

He felt terrible, but even so, he was surprised that the hangover afflicted him so severely that he couldn’t even move his arms, which seemed to be awkwardly pinned behind him. Where was he? What in the name of Reorx had he been drinking?

Gradually, a few answers came to him from deep inside his foggy mind. He had been in a campsite, traveling with Harn Poleaxe. They’d been sharing a flask of dwarf spirits… but then everything got confusing. What had happened to them?

Only gradually, as he continued to struggle to form his thoughts, did he realize the bitter truth: he was bound! He struggled against the tight cords that restrained his wrists, speared by pain as he forced himself into a sitting position. He looked around for Poleaxe, wondering if his companion, too, had been taken captive by unknown foes. But how? Hadn’t Harn told him that, at long last, they were back on his own, friendly territory?

Even when he saw his Neidar companion, sitting across the smoldering remnant of the great bonfire, grinning cheerfully at him, he didn’t remember what had happened. Only when he took in the other dwarves, a full dozen of them, armed and armored as if for battle, did he begin to comprehend the betrayal. The newcomers were casually seated around Poleaxe, clearly no threat to him. Two of them sipped mugs of steaming tea, while several more leaned against tree trunks, their booted feet propped casually on rocks near the fire.

The Bluestone luck! He’d been betrayed and captured. Complete understanding dawned when he recognized the hollow belt pouch, the sleeve containing the venerable Bluestone, held casually in Harn Poleaxe’s hands.

With an inarticulate cry of rage, Brandon tried to hurl himself across the camp. His futile effort ended in a pathetic thump onto his face when he couldn’t free his hands and, at the same time, discovered that his legs were tightly bound together at the calves and ankles.

“Here now, son,” Poleaxe said genially. “Take care you don’t pull a muscle or plant your face in the fire. Those coals are still plenty hot, you know.”

“Filthy thieving bastard!” Brandon spit, wrestling himself around, once again sitting up clumsily. He was trembling with rage, furious at his own impotence.

“Now watch your tongue, or I might just have to hit you again. Harder this time.” Poleaxe patted the hammer he wore at his belt, and Brandon understood why his head was throbbing so badly. Poleaxe addressed one of the others, who-the prisoner guessed-were obviously his fellow hill dwarves. “I tell you, these Hylar can’t handle strong drink. They should stick to lemon water or iced beer.”

His witty remark was greeted by chuckles but aroused Brandon to fresh, and fruitless, struggles against his painful bonds. “You tricked me!” he declared. “That was more than dwarf spirits in that bottle.”

Harn Poleaxe laughed and gave a mocking little half bow of thanks, as if he had just been complimented. “I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just drunk it like a dwarf. But instead, you sipped it like an elf maid so, yeah, I had to doctor the recipe a little.”

“You brought me all this way just to rob me?” Brandon asked, astounded at the treachery and mystified as to his former companion’s behavior.

“In a word, yes,” Poleaxe said. He was clearly enjoying himself. “But you should know that this is much, much more than a simple robbery. Do you know how hard it was to follow you and your brother through the caves under Garnet Thax? I had to track you all the way! Then, after you fought the troll and found the vein of gold, I knew that your father would never sell the stone-he had no need of my payment, not if you could file your claim.”

“No!” Brandon protested in disbelief. “It was you? You were there-”

“Ah, comes the dawn,” said the Niedar with a wicked chuckle. “I hastened to get word to Lord Heelspur, so that his fellows could meet you and Nailer. Of course, I had to make sure that one of you survived, and that Heelspur got to claim the new vein. All in all, I put in a lot of work to make this happen.”

“But- why?” demanded the Kayolin dwarf.

“You see, we’re going to make a war, and you-or your family’s stone, more properly-is going to help us.”

“A war? Against who?” demanded the Kayolin dwarf.

For the first time, the Neidar’s genial front cracked. “Against your own cousins down here!” he spat. “The mountain dwarves who’ve been the bane of my people’s existence since before the Cataclysm. No longer content to cower behind the gates of Thorbardin, they dare to battle us on the surface.” He hefted the beautiful blue wedge. “This is part-one part-of the head of a hammer that will smash the gate of Thorbardin wide open. It will be like pulling off the top of an anthill. Just imagine the mountain dwarves’ consternation as the Neidar army pours in. We’ll send them on their final march to Reorx!”

Brandon sat back, stunned and focused. So many bad things had happened to him recently, he had thought he was over the worst. But the full scope of the disaster that was striking his family began to dawn on him, and his throat tightened with a mixture of self-pity and despair. First, Nailer Bluestone had been murdered at the moment of hope and possible redemption. Then he, himself, had been forced into exile, carrying the last hope of the clan represented by the stone that rested in Poleaxe’s possession. He saw that Harn had even stolen his axe-the axe Balric Bluestone had carried on the surface when the Cataclysm stuck. The weapon had been strapped into Brandon’s pack, but it lay on the ground beside the arrogant Neidar.

All hope was gone, finished.

“What are you going to do with me?” he demanded with as much bluster as he could fake.

“That’s an interesting, but a tough, question,” Harn replied. He pushed himself to his feet and strode back and forth, glancing at his new companions. Brandon studied them too and didn’t like what he saw. They were a lot of ruffians and outlaws, he guessed. One wore an eye patch, while several proudly displayed the scars of battle on their faces or bare arms. An older Neidar spit ostentatiously, his eyes never leaving the prisoner’s.

“I know for a fact this one’s a spy,” Poleaxe declared loudly for everyone’s benefit. “He’s here to scout our towns and report back on our preparations. Why, at Flatrock, he claimed to be one of my own clan-mates. He’s a scoundrel, I tell you.”

“You lying bastard!” protested Brandon, flailing uselessly. “You know as well as I do why I came here… and why I claimed to be a Neidar in Flatrock!”

“A confession!” Harn crowed triumphantly. “See!”

Poleaxe stopped pacing. He pointed to a pair of the hill dwarves, burly fellows with bristling beards and stout shields. Each wore a short sword at his waist and, as if understanding the treacherous Neidar’s command, they drew their weapons at his gesture.

“Kill him,” Poleaxe ordered, and the two dwarves raised their blades and stepped forward. Brandon, though he knew it was useless, continued to strain and struggle against his bonds, feeling the leather cords cut into his wrists, the blood flowing down onto his hands.

“Now wait a moment, Poleaxe,” declared another dwarf, a grizzled warrior with his own heavy shield and a war axe tucked into his belt. “That’s mebbe going a little too far. We can take his treasure; we need it, and I know that as well as you do. But he represents no threat to us now. And perhaps he doesn’t deserve death in cold blood.”

“Who are you to say that, Fireforge?” growled Poleaxe, clearly irritated at the challenge. “I brought him here. I know the darkness in his soul.”

“It’s cold-blooded murder!” retorted the one called Fireforge.

“Not murder. Merely execution of a criminal.”

“Then what’s his crime?” demanded the stubborn advocate.

Poleaxe looked at Brandon with a sneer of contempt. “He’s a mountain dwarf spy!” he declared. “I told you, and you yourself heard him admit it. Ain’t that crime enough?”

“That’s a lie!” shouted Brandon. “You know it is!”

“You think I don’t know about your secret mission? The maps you were supposed to make for your mountain dwarf king?”

The captive struggled vainly for a second, his tongue as tied as his arms and legs, fury dropping a red haze across his vision. The two executioners looked at Poleaxe expectantly, though one of them cast an uneasy glance at Fireforge.

Brandon understood that the latter, for whatever reason he was defending him, represented his only chance at survival. “He stole my father’s life-fortune with his treachery,” he protested desperately. “I come from Kayolin. Why would my governor, who is no king, have interest in provoking an attack on the hill dwarves of Kharolis?”

“Good questions,” Fireforge noted. His hand still rested on his axe, though he had made no move to draw the weapon. “At the very least, they deserve to be settled in trial. You might be the clan chief, Harn, and we all know your reputation and your courage in battle, but I won’t stand for a cold-blooded execution, not here and now.”

Poleaxe flushed, grinding his teeth behind the tangle of his beard. He took a step toward Fireforge, towering over the other dwarf, as he did every one of the other members of the band.

But there was something in the grim determination of his opponent’s steady, and eerily calm, gaze that held his hand. Poleaxe turned and spit in Brandon’s direction, the spittle hitting the mountain dwarf’s outstretched boot. Finally he shrugged, a gesture of casual, if insincere, acquiescence.

“Have it your way,” he said sullenly. He glared at the two dwarves he had ordered to kill Brandon. “Untie his feet and pick him up. But watch him carefully. He’s a snake, that one.”

Then he turned to the prisoner, and again his face was transformed by that mocking smile. “You’ve got a lot of walking to do,” he declared before turning and mounting his horse.